


No One Loves a Bitter Man

by Gallicenae



Series: Fic Challenge [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Month of Fanfiction, Rare Pair, Smut, innuendos, sex in a tent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 10:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11803899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallicenae/pseuds/Gallicenae
Summary: Zevran is in charge of escorting Carver safely to Antiva City to keep him away from the disastrous events Corypheus has planned for the Wardens.





	No One Loves a Bitter Man

**Author's Note:**

> \- Month of Fanfiction: Day 2  
> \- Prompt: Rare Pair

“I’ve traveled with wardens before. They weren’t usually this grim.” Zevran lazily flipped a throwing knife over in his hand as he trailed behind the young man in front of him.

“I don’t guess they nearly died of blight and were forced into the order by the only family they had left.”

Zevran tsked him. “No one loves a bitter man, ser warden. I have found bitter drinks fare far better.”

Carver heaved an exasperated sigh and pivoted to face his companion. “I’m not here to talk about your fondness for drink, interest in knives, or, Maker forbid, your leather fetish. I’m here to get to Antiva City, where I will wait to hear back from the Order - not your poor attempts at conversation.”

“Is arguing a family trait? I should think so given your sister’s introduction.”

“Urgh! Can’t you go a single afternoon without talking? Just a single one?”

The assassin mused over it for a moment. He was to serve primarily as Carver’s bodyguard, but he also knew the roads through these woods far better than the Grey Warden did. He knew around which curves bandits would strike and which bridges were better left uncrossed. Carver’s goal was to get Antiva City. Zevran’s was to get him there alive.  
“I can, and I will.”

Carver drew back in disbelief. “Wait, what?”

Zevran winked at the warrior. “Provided you allow me to lead until we make camp, of course.”

The man was indignant, and he pointed down the path they had been walking for the last two days. “This will take us all the way through the Green Dales and up to Seleny, where we can catch a boat down the river. I know the road, Zevran.”

“As do many others.”

“I can handle myself!”

Zevran walked by Carver and patted the man’s chest affectionately. “Oh I know, but you finish far too quickly for me to ever join in on the fun.”

Carver’s face went beet red. He couldn’t even bring himself to ask how much Zevran knew, or how many times he’d heard the last whimpers roll out of him before falling asleep in the tent. Maker. He’d never be able to live this down. Not ever.

The young man grumbled as he turned and stormed ahead, his armor rattling with the fervor to put some distance between them. 

“Does this mean you would like to hear more of my lilting voice?” Zevran called after him.

\---

The sun was crawling down toward the horizon when Zevran pulled Carver up short with a fierce tug at his waist. The assassin’s hand stayed hooked through the Warden’s belt, to steady him as much as to keep him from continuing around the bend just ahead.

“Zevr-”

Zevran shushed him sharply, and it was only then that Carver realized the elf hadn’t been talking for the last few miles. He adjusted his stance as he peered ahead, but didn’t reach for his broadsword. Zevran pulled his hood up and snuck off through the underbrush, hoping to spring whatever trap might be set for them. Carver watched his companion disappear, awed at the silence of his movements. 

The next several minutes passed by slowly, so much so that Carver’s legs ached from the tension. Had he really been so blatantly ignorant of what perils could be awaiting them? His sister and Stroud had sought out the Inquisitor for help with the Grey Wardens. Corin didn’t want him anywhere near that mess. The two of them had nearly come to blows about it. Carver had only reluctantly agreed to be ferried off to Antiva upon receiving the missive from his cousin with the official stamp of the Inquisition. It had been an order, and Rhian had made sure to include her title as Warden-Commander just in case Carver made any attempt to argue. And even after all that, they wanted him to have a bodyguard. If those two were so worried about him making his way across Thedas, maybe they had cause.

The thought edged him closer to the trees, taking care where he stepped. If he hadn’t stormed off earlier, Zevran would probably have avoided this path and found a quick way around the entire thing. As much as Carver hated apologizing, it would be the least he could do upon making camp.

Zevran slipped so slowly to Carver’s side, it wasn’t until the elf spoke that Carver realized he was even there. 

“Turns out they were not after you.” He said casually, wiping at fresh splatter on his armor. “They had no idea who were.”

“What were they after then?”

“Carver, why are you whispering?”

Carver was about to answer, but it came out as more of a confused grunt as he gestured his hands to indicate the danger that had been ahead.

Zevran whispered back, “They’re dead. They are not listening.” 

He lowered his hood and checked them both over, happy to see his charge had remained in one piece during his short absence. “Ah, it is done then. For now. They have a camp not far from here if you would like to take it.”

“Is that your plan? Sleep in a dead man’s tent?”

“Why not? But if you would rather set up camp in the dark while I start a fire, be my guest.”

Carver frowned, but nodded his agreement. “Alright. At least they’re likely to have something other than rations there.”

“To be sure.”

“Lead on, then.” He tried to make it sound as if he didn’t care, while hoping his tone was a shade friendlier than before. “Wouldn’t want my foot getting caught in a snare.”

“Now that brings back memories.”

\---

Carver stirred in his rucksack, unable to sleep and fully aware of Zevran’s soft snoring next to him. He rolled over, keeping his back to his companion. He’d never be able to fall asleep next to the assassin again, and they had a long journey ahead. The night was going to be a long one. Carver let out an agitated breath and untangled himself from the light cloth that covered him. 

“Do you have some trouble sleeping?” The question was whispered against his ear, Zevran’s breath coming in warm and heavy.

For a split second, Carver froze, but when Zevran teased a tongue along his ear, the man couldn’t control the way his back arched up to meet the small pleasure. The assassin moved his hand against the small of Carver’s back almost instantly, holding him there as he slid his body closer to the warden’s. 

Zevran brushed his lips down along Carver’s jaw as his arm reached over his side to tease at the man’s trousers. “I can help with that. If you like.”

He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since before he’d joined the Grey Wardens. It had been constant survival and training, and Carver had simple learned to take care of his needs on his own. There was no affection in the ranks he had joined, and he had grown to miss the closeness of people - running into people in the streets, playful punches over ales - something more than a rare approving grip on the shoulder.

Isabela had told him once to take his pleasures where he might find them, that it would make no difference who he had them with. This journey, it was the first time he’d been without someone watching his every move, making sure he kept in line. He was freer here in this moment than he’d been in the years since he’d joined the Wardens. He could do as he pleased, and right now, Carver wanted to be touched.

The ‘please’ barely passed his lips before Zevran’s hand slipped under his smalls and wrapped firmly around him. Just that, Carver was in bliss with just that, someone else stroking him, but his assassin gave far more. Their mouths found each other as Zevran’s thumb pressed and moved against the head of Carver’s cock. The kisses were deep, his desperation for connection buffered by Zevran’s slow and purposeful movements. They kept rhythm with each stroke of his hand, building slowly until Carver felt ready to burst.

That was when Zevran pulled away, leaving Carver with a thin whimper of protest on his mouth. The elf pulled off his shirt before stepping out of the rest of his clothes, letting Carver watch. No words passed between them, just the heady anticipation both could see. 

Zevran soon stood over him, reaching down to tug off Carver’s clothes. The light was dim, but Carver could just make out the curved lines of tattoos on Zevran’s hips. As soon as he was freed from his shirt, his arms brought the elf in closer, hands gripping him still so that Carver could lavish his tongue along the marks. The assassin watched from under half-lidded eyes, his hands rifling through Carver’s unwashed hair. He pulled the warrior’s head up before he had a chance to move his lips down any lower.

“I remember you agreeing to a bargain earlier, ser warden. I will not say a word so long as you let me lead.”

Carver nodded, his expression hazy but eager, and Zevran sank down to connect with him again. The warrior went on his back willingly the moment Zevran applied enough suggestive pressure, while the assassin’s mouth made its way to the erection between his legs. His tongue massaged around the tip while a hand reached to attend to his own arousal. 

Carver ached with pleasure, everywhere Zevran touched burned and cried out for more. Every slow pull of the elf’s throat around his shaft made him moan, made him tense to keep from getting carried away and fuck his mouth. Then he felt a warm and slick finger press against his ass, gentle and massaging. The sensation was new, unfamiliar, and dizzying when added to Zevran’s machinations around his cock. That feeling pulled at his groin. Carver grabbed what he could of the elf’s hair and rocked against his jaw, fervent in his need. A finger slipped in to the knuckle, putting pressure where he’d never felt. It sent a wave through him and Carver’s body clenched, eliciting a loud moan of pleasure as he came in his companion’s mouth.

\---

It was just before noon when Carver finally woke. He was covered in little more than a towel and his hair was an uncharacteristic mess. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well. 

Zevran was throwing another log of wood on the fire when Carver stepped out of the tent, still tying his breeches. 

“Here, drink this.” The assassin handed over a mug of dark liquid. “We were lucky those men had such fine tastes.”

Carver took a sip and winced. “What is it?”

“Antivan coffee.”

“It’s so...”

Zevran smiled. “Bitter, yes?”

Carver nodded, taking another cautious drink. 

“You might say it is something of an acquired taste.” He looked at Carver with a cheeky smirk, “But I have found there to be sweet undertones in the flavor.”


End file.
